


Comfort Food

by YumeArashi



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Caretaking, Food, Gen, Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 11:15:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YumeArashi/pseuds/YumeArashi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malik doesn't like the idea of anyone taking care of him.  Altaïr does it anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort Food

“Go away, novice.  I do not need to be cared for, by you least of all.”

Altaïr lifted an eyebrow at the less than warm welcome.  “Your left leg is broken.  Stubborn you may be, but even you cannot walk on a broken leg.”  He knew better than to mention that the lack of Malik’s arm made crutches impossible. 

“So?  I have some supplies laid in.  Part of being rafiq is ensuring that the Bureau is sufficiently well-stocked to shelter the brothers when it is too dangerous for them to seek food, medicine, or rest elsewhere.”

“I know what is in the stores.  You intend to eat raw grain, dried fruit, and jerked mutton for weeks on end?”

“If I have to.”

Altaïr simply rolled his eyes and left the little sleeping room for the main areas of the Bureau. 

“And stay gone,” Malik muttered, settling down in the pile of cushions that served as his bed.

 *****

He was woken some hours later by a wonderfully rich scent drifting through the doorway.  He blinked tiredly and listened to his stomach growl, wondering if he were still dreaming.

After a moment Altaïr came in through the doorway, proving that Malik was indeed awake.  He carried a tray with several dishes and set it down beside the nest of pillows Malik had made for himself.  He hesitated a moment, looking like he was about to say something, and Malik growled, “If you are going to ask whether I need assistance simply eating a meal, get out.”

Altaïr sighed and did so.  Malik dragged himself into a sitting position and took a look at the dishes.  There was a chicken breast with crisp, dark-golden skin, carrying the mouth-watering aromas of orange and almond.  A dish of fine-grained couscous was beside it, colorfully studded with vegetables and small chunks of veal.  Steam laden with the tempting scent of spices  wafted from a bowl of soup  - chicken broth, with chickpeas and long, twisted noodles.  Lastly, a bowl of something Malik could not even identify was accompanied by a pile of flatbread.  Cautiously, he scooped some up with the bread and tried a bit.  His eyes widened in surprise, then closed in enjoyment.  The salty tang of cheese hit his tongue first, followed by the sharp taste of fresh garlic and the richness of walnuts and good olive oil. 

The cheese spread disappeared faster than Malik would have liked to admit.  By the time it was gone, the rest was cool enough to eat.  The chicken was rich enough for a king’s table, Malik thought.  The couscous was plainer, but surprisingly good for such a basic dish.  The fact that Altaïr had brought soup irritated him – he was injured, not ill – but it was good enough that he overlooked it.

He called for Altaïr once he finished, surprised at himself for having finished the entire tray of food.  The assassin entered and collected the dishes silently, apparently not wanting another argument.

“Where did you get this?” Malik wanted to know.  “I’ve not had its like at any food stall or inn I’ve yet been to in this city, and you know I’ve explored it well for my maps.  If there is a new vendor cooking such quality meals, I will go there from now on.”

Altaïr looked pleased at that, answering, “I made it.”

Malik looked at him blankly for a moment, then laughed scornfully.  “Right, Altaïr the master chef.”

“I spend a lot of time between cities,” Altaïr shrugged.  “It was either learn to cook or eat cold food  all the time.”

“You’re an idiot,” Malik told him.  “I can’t imagine why you are refusing to tell me where you got it, but I can see that it’s no use trying to get you to talk sense.”  He lay back down, pulling a light blanket over himself.  “Leave me.”

***** 

When dinner time came around, Altaïr brought an equally impressive meal – but this time, it was still in Malik’s own little-used cookware.  He dished it onto the plate wordlessly.

Malik looked incredulous at first, then uncomfortable.  As much as Altaïr aggravated him, Malik could not deny that his earlier accusations were, for once, undeserved.  He took a bite of the main dish, spiced boiled beef with cherries and other fruits, which proved every bit as good as the earlier food.  “It’s very good,” he mumbled, offering the praise in a conciliatory fashion.

“I am glad it pleases you.”  Altaïr seemed to take that for the sidelong apology that it was. 

“How did you learn?”

“Trial and error.  Mostly error,” Altaïr admitted.

Malik gave a snort of laughter at that.  “Something that the great Altaïr could not do?”

“I don’t see you making your own meals.”

“I know better.  After I managed to burn plain rice, I decided to leave it to the professionals.”

Altaïr chuckled.  “You could not do worse than I did.  The first time I made soup, all the liquid boiled away because I did not pay it proper attention.”

Malik chuckled.  “Only you are stubborn enough to persist in the face of such failure.”

“Doubtless,” Altaïr agreed, taking a bite of his own portion.  After a moment, he admitted, “You are the first person I have fed.”

“I’m honored,” Malik rolled his eyes, but the comment was without any real venom.

“I am relieved you think it good,” Altaïr ignored the sarcasm.  “Until now, I was not sure if I was merely used to it.”

“If you can’t tell that this is good, then you don’t deserve to eat your own cooking,” Malik told him.

Altaïr smiled.  There was something very enjoyable about sharing the food he’d cooked, and not just the backhanded praise.  Seeing someone else eat and enjoy what he’d worked so hard to prepare was gratifying, and it was strange to feel that way about something that had nothing to do with being an assassin.  “If you like, tomorrow I will help you out to the main room and you can watch me prepare the meals.  It is not difficult, once you know how.”

Surprisingly, Malik made no objection to the idea of Altaïr helping him.  “If it means getting to eat like this more often, I suppose I could try again to learn.”

“You will succeed,” Altaïr said simply.  “You have never let anything stand in the way of what you truly want.”  He glanced at Malik’s maimed arm, and there was regret in his eyes.  “No matter how impossible the odds, you always overcome.”

Malik gave him a long look, his expression unreadable.  In the end he said nothing, silently holding out his bowl for seconds.

It wasn’t forgiveness but maybe, Altaïr thought, it might be acceptance.  “Until then, I will cook for you whenever I can.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this kinkmeme prompt: http://forkinsocket.livejournal.com/19860.html?thread=5488276#t5488276  
> Being a massive food geek, I actually own a book on the culinary traditions of this culture. All of the dishes mentioned really are taken from Crusades-era Islamic cuisine. Recipes are available upon request; they are medieval recipes, so quantities and ingredients may need to be adapted. Don’t let that stop you though, I’ve made some of them myself and it was a lot of fun and deliciousness!


End file.
